insects
by electric caterpillar
Summary: bizarre crossovers from an mfrp set in a quarantine, occurring out of order, bugsy x others, crossovers with kaiji, ib and hotd (so far)


In the rain-washed grey glen of the hospital courtyard Kaiji met a child hiding in the clover-spotted black tar the park bench.

Kaiji, who was very thin, was shocked at the thinness of the child, the smallness. The crouching creature wore the remains of a boyish olive drab jumper and a mass of buoyant burgundy curls which slipped over the sleepy expression of the round fine face.

The face was an extremely sweet one, but Kaiji did not think of that - he thought first astonishment that actual children were being kept in this place, and then he thought this child looked unwell and dirty and ill-kempt, with bramble tangled in its hair. Its eyes were hooded, its cheeks grey, its round mouth grimacing. It looked at Kaiji and smiled a pitiful kind of smile.

Kaiji did not smile. Even in ideal circumstances, he would not have smiled at a strange child - the things were alien to him - but it was not from malice.

"What are you doing?" Kaiji asked the child, whose sex Kaiji could not say for certain.

The child rubbed its cheek with its miniscule wrist - the proportions of it were astonishing to Kaiji, so small, impossibly small, like a doll - and that left a greasy black streak in its wake. It blinked wearily.

"Um," it said.

"Come out from under there," Kaiji said without thinking, and was immediately embarassed of his concern, crossing his arms in an obstinate way and leaning on the bench table. The child obeyed. It wobbled a little as it stood, but managed the task.

"Hi," the child said weakly, and its voice cracked, and Kaiji thought it sounded almost male, with a hardiness beneath the placid surface of lamblike soprano which predicted darkening into the voice of a man.

"What are you doing?" Kaiji repeated, and without meaning to he sounded a little gruff. The child became accordingly more demure, wilting from Kaiji with downcast eyes, and Kaiji almost felt sorry.

"Nothing," the child said, how soft and small the sound of its voice, like a puff of dandelion seed!

"Why were you down there?"

"I don't know." The child was anxious. "I'm tired ..."

"Why didn't you go inside and go to sleep?"

The child did not reply. It gave Kaiji an apologetic look, a subject and sorry look native to a well-bred person, and sat suddenly in the soil as if it could stand no longer. Its eyes closed for a long minute.

Kaiji was bemused, assured himself he should walk away before the child became his problem, but instead composed an almost gentle tone of voice with which to ask, "are you okay?"

"I'm really tired," it replied in a small voice, and lifted its fists to rub its eyes, and Kaiji touched its wrist to stop it.

"Don't do that," Kaiji reproached. "What is your name?"

"Bugsy," said Bugsy, and Kaiji decided he was probably a little boy. He watched Kaiji warily retire from him, and Kaiji saw his eyelashes were long, like a doe's, and his eyes very light brown, almost lavender. There were tawny freckles in the corners of his eyes and splashed across the bridge of his nose.

"I'm tired," said Bugsy, pitifully.

"Go inside," said Kaiji.

Bugsy looked very sorry and leaned his fat cheek on the board of the bench, close to Kaiji's knee. "I can't."

Kaiji saw the silver shimmer of open cellophane packages in the black soil beneath the bench table, several crushed aluminum cans and the site of amber crumbs of a crushed candy bar.

"You eat too much junk food," said Kaiji.

Bugsy nodded. His eyes slowly closed, long lashes rested against his fat freckled cheeks, and he said very quietly, "I'm tired."

Bugsy seemed to weigh little more than a box lunch. His head rolled on Kaiji's shoulder and his curly hair where it touched Kaiji's cheek and jaw was soft and smelled faintly of rain. His feet in their clumsy brown boots flopped beyond Kaiji's arm in a way he almost found cute.

It was grey with mist in the rain-soddened yard, but the inside was worse. The prolifity of white chemical light and odor of medicine was powerful enough to qualify as a mist itself.

Kaiji's room was along the branch of the east hall, past the looming double doors which led to innards forbidden to him, forbidden to infected, past the leaves of open rooms within which men slept, ambled, wept, worried, rolled on the floor, spoke aloud to themselves.

Kaiji's room contained nothing of that. Kaiji had not yet been assigned a room partner, and he was made of tougher stuff than the weepers and waking nightmares which often inhabited the hall.

Kaiji lay the dozing child in the stale spare bed - he thought he was filthy, that he should wash him, and grinned at the absurdity of the idea - at the impropriety.

Bugsy made a sound that resembled the word "mother."

Kaiji watched him a while. It occurred to him one of the dark marks on the child's chin was chocolate. He almost laughed out loud.

Across the room, on the foot of his own bed, Kaiji sat, and he considered.


End file.
